Something has been on my mind for a while concerning the sad lack of updates to this site. A few years ago, I had what might be called ‘an identity crisis.’ I had lost sense of who I was and what I wanted. I realise I’m not unique in these particular pontifications, but perhaps my own peculiar eccentricities in dealing with them may prove interesting to you. My main worry was a simple question: am I happy?
The world was now a fog with no pictures, not even the indistinct images from before. The souls knew each others minds completely now, but they continued to speak out loud. Their thought process was still based on conversations, even if they were only talking to themselves. The younger soul spoke first, “I think Coco’s life may not be so bad as we first feared.” “We can but hope, Sister-brother. At least we know that her path is open to many possibilities.
Time flickered past the two new souls as they saw everything blur around them. Everything seemed out of focus except for the girl. Ashley Brown’s child was female. While the rest of this life was only the most probable path, that truth had been set before the souls became involved. As the visions of childhood passed by, the younger soul saw brief images of pain and struggle. The child was named, ’Coco.
Thank you so much to all of you for reading my stories! It is greatly encouraging to know that people are reading the things I write. People have been particularly kind in their praise of my ideas. That is really wonderful to hear and makes me think this is all worthwhile. I am writing these short stories so that I can improve, and for that I need your help. It’s so encouraging to see the hit count increase when I publish a new chapter, but I also value direct feedback.
There was nothing here but the pool. That’s how it always started. A single pool of undefined soul fragments mingling together without individuality. It was neither a single soul, nor many souls together. It was simply a pool of potential. There were other souls out there, beyond this place. Those souls had already taken shape and were living lives. And, once they were finished, they would return to the pool again, broken apart to spread what they had learned.
Living life is like following a series of connected paths. When you’re trying to determine which path to follow, you only have the signs to help you choose. You cannot see into the distance to where the paths will actually lead and the signs can sometimes be misleading. We make many choices in our lives and each choice leads us along a path. Many of the paths look similar at the beginning but once we follow one, we can never know where the others may have led.
The second story I’ve been cooking up is not all that different from the first. I mean, the actual story is totally different, but I think it has a similar feel and explores related issues. Dasein was about exploring whether we are real or have free will, but I think the next story, ‘Soulstice,’ is about the ways our existence is affected by free will. The story also tries to explore whether free will is really that important in our lives, or if luck and circumstance play a bigger part.
“I assume you think of me as unreal,” said the figure. “That I am merely a character from your story. I am sure, then, that it will come as a shock to find out that you are only half correct.” Martin had lost all feeling in his body. All he could do was look on and listen to the figure’s distorted voice. “You see, Martin, I am not real. My actions are not under my control at all.
Martin felt his throat become thick and heavy, but managed to open his mouth and confront the killer. “Do not leave,” Martin told the figure. “I am your creator. You have entered into my world and you have no place here. You must not run. I must destroy you before you damage this universe.” The figure began to speak in a distorted voice. It did not come from his mouth. It seemed to come from everywhere.
As soon as Martin admitted to himself that he was powerless, he was released. He sat up in bed, waiting to see if he had the will to move around. The restrictions seemed to be gone. He wondered if it was really true though. If he did not have the control to break fictional bonds on him, how could he be sure someone was not controlling him now? Perhaps someone was anticipating all the movements he wanted to make, then making them for him.
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